


Gryffindor Reasoning

by winterdaffodils (zhem1x5)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Grooming, M/M, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhem1x5/pseuds/winterdaffodils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Straight from the prompt: Draco's magic has been bound as punishment for being on the wrong side of the war. He's only allowed to use magic under the supervision of a Ministry appointed official. Harry volunteers. Draco wants to know why? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Written for the 2013 Interhouse Fest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gryffindor Reasoning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drarryisgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryisgreen/gifts).



> I failed completely and you shall see where *headdesk*

“Why are you doing this,” Malfoy asked softly, his voice gone hoarse from things Harry didn't even want to rightly imagine.

He shifted uncomfortably, well aware of the way bloodshot grey eyes followed his every movement.

“Well,” Harry answered slowly, drawing out the single syllable as his mind worked frantically toward a truly plausible reason. “I'm a Gryffindor, aren't I, and it's just that, well, who else is there?”

Malfoy froze, his eyes gone too wide and his breathing almost painfully short and fast. Harry worried he wasn't getting enough oxygen.

“Is—is that the only reason,” Malfoy articulated slowly, his fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard Harry thought his nails might split.

“Well, yeah, what else is there?”

 

Malfoy didn't speak to him for two weeks which grated on Harry's nerves but he couldn't say he didn't understand and even appreciate the distance. Ron and Ginny had been both loud and incredibly vocal in what they thought of the circumstances and Malfoy himself and Harry's apparent willingness to put up with it all.

It didn't matter how much he shouted that there was no one else, they only got redder in the face and then louder. Even Hermione would only silently shake her head, letting the other two say for her what she thought of Harry's 'hero complex'.

It was just as well Malfoy pointedly stayed away from him, Harry wasn't in the mood to even be accommodating to perfectly understandable wariness.

It got a little unnerving after a while though, knowing someone was there but never hearing or seeing them. If not for the occasional flushing of the toilet or dirty mug he might have been alone in the house.

He slept a lot and assumed Malfoy did too.

 

The sound of footsteps on the stairs had Harry drawing his wand before he'd consciously thought of it, his heart beating hard and fast, his hand steady.

Malfoy stopped almost violently, half-in and half-out of the kitchen doorway and staring as though Harry had promised him food and was now eating it in front of him.

Harry grimaced, lowering his wand and running his other hand through his hair. "Well, come on in," he gestured vaguely, sitting again and pushing the teapot further toward the middle of the table.

It took almost two minutes before Malfoy crossed the threshold of the room and Harry let out a soft breath when he finally sat down.

 

“Why did you agree? Why take me in?”

“Because you lowered your wand,” Harry answered with absolute honesty, feeling a bit vindicated when Malfoy ducked his head in shame and slipped out of the room.

 

"Potter," Malfoy called a few days later, the first time he had acknowledged Harry by name, and Harry practically ran to him, expecting to find him bleeding or broken or even just flummoxed by the function of the refrigerator and secretly just grateful that toilets were pretty much the same wherever you went. He couldn't imagine training Malfoy in the proper use of Muggle bathrooms. It was almost a blessing that Malfoy was without a wand. Really.

"Where are you," Harry shouted, not finding Malfoy in the kitchen as expected and knowing he ignored most every other room.

"The room with the metal laundry elves," Malfoy shouted back, irritation clear in his tone.

"Oh," Harry muttered, trailing down the short hallway from the kitchen. "What are you doing in here?"

"Attempting to launder my clothing, obviously. They lack the capability of following basic commands," Malfoy said, gesturing imperiously toward the washing machine.

Harry snorted despite himself.

 

Malfoy's clothes shrunk the first time he washed them without Harry's supervision. Harry tried not to laugh as Malfoy complained about having to wear his but couldn't fail to notice that after the initial whinging the other boy seemed relatively comfortable in Harry's oversized t-shirts and baggie denims.

 

“Give me an honest answer,” Malfoy demanded, his arms crossed over his chest and doing nothing to hide how much weight he had lost since their sixth year.

“I have been,” Harry snapped, glaring and consciously not reaching for his wand. “Dumbledore offered you a second chance. I'm just making sure someone with more cause to hate you than I have doesn't kill your sorry arse before you can live it.”

Malfoy blinked quickly, shifting and swallowing and looking anywhere but at Harry. “I-I'll just be in my room then,” he muttered finally, shuffling out of the room before Harry could call him back.

 

Malfoy refused to wash up after himself, leaving dirty plates under his bed and half-full cups of tea between the banisters.

Harry thought it must be some sort of test to see how far he could push him before things got violent but Harry had had enough of fighting. He found he didn't mind it so much, all it took was a quick spell and the dishes were clean and dry and neatly stacked in the cupboards.

It was almost worth it to see Malfoy's face when Harry calmly accepted a crusty plate from him as though it was nothing.

 

Malfoy couldn't shave. Harry hadn't even considered the idea that the other boy might have ever needed to. Ever. But the growth of blond fuzz that eventually became actual whiskers was hard to deny. It made Harry grin to watch him scratching at it.

 

"Potter!"

He was almost used to the sound of his name being shouted down the hall again. At least Malfoy's voice was fairly pleasant compared to the memory of Uncle Vernon's

"What now, Malfoy," Harry sighed, because he was supposed to, and leaned against the door jam, staring at the other boy with as much irritation as he could muster. It didn't last long.

He snorted, watching Malfoy attempting to shave without the aid of any creams or spells. Small spots of blood where he had nicked himself dotted his left cheek.

"You rang?"

"What? Never mind. I have it," Malfoy muttered, scrutinizing himself in the mirror.

"Not well," Harry answered back, gesturing vaguely to the smear of blood and shaving cream on Malfoy's sleeve.

"Piss off."

"Just let me help you," Harry sighed, stepping into the bathroom to take the razor out of the other boy's hand.

"W-what are you doing," Malfoy sputtered, stumbling away from Harry though there wasn't far for him to go.

"Shaving you," Harry said, shrugging as though it were nothing to get concerned about.

"Use a fucking spell then," Malfoy shrilled, covering his throat with his hand.

"I can't use that sort of magic on you, you prat. Weren't you listening?"

"Of course I wasn't listening," Malfoy sneered. "Sorry, but I was rather caught up in the dissolution of everything I've ever known."

“How is it you even need to shave,” Harry asked quickly, hoping for a distraction. They'd managed to avoid most talk of the war after that first near catastrophe and Harry didn't really think he was ready for it now.

He offered Malfoy a weak smile, praying he would allow the subject change.

“A spell,” Malfoy said after a long moment of staring at him. “A potion. It takes both or I would only ever grow the one beard.” His smile was a little crooked and stiff, but it was an answering smile nonetheless.

“It takes magic for you to grow facial hair,” Harry snorted, wetting a flannel with warm water and pressing it against Malfoy's skin.

“All Malfoys, I think,” Malfoy answered, submitting to Harry's manipulations with a wary eye. “We don't grow much body hair at all.” He lifted his arm, showing Harry how sparse and light the hair there was.

Harry nodded, tamping down on his amusement at that even being a concern. He reached for his shaving cream, lathering up the brush and waiting for Malfoy's nod to spread it over his skin.

“As you can imagine, that is hardly manly enough for powerful Malfoys,” he murmured, pressing his lips together for the cream to go under his nose and over his chin. “It takes months for it to really matter of course. The only time I ever saw my father with a beard was after Azkaban.”

He fell silent after that and Harry let him, picking up the razor again. “Hold still,” he asked hopefully.

Malfoy didn't move, staring somewhere over Harry's right shoulder solemnly.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, pressing his fingers up over Malfoy's cheekbone to pull the skin tight before drawing the blade down his cheek. “Don't move,” he whispered over and over, watching smooth pink skin appear from under his blade.

He could feel Malfoy's eyes on him, his gaze steady, but Harry focused on his task, his movements slow and careful, even when he paused to clean his blade after each stroke.

“Next,” he asked when he finished the right side, tilting Malfoy's head to the right and pulling the skin and muscle tight.

Malfoy's breaths were calm and steady as Harry shaved his left cheek.

“You okay,” Harry asked, meeting Malfoy's eyes for a second before averting his own.

“Yes,” Malfoy breathed, barely parting his lips to answer.

Harry smiled his approval. “I'm only going to do the one pass for now, if that's not close enough I'll go again.”

Malfoy didn't answer again, merely tilted his head when Harry had finished his face, staring at Harry when he had bared his throat.

“Almost done,” Harry promised, nerves putting butterflies in his stomach.

“Potter,” Malfoy asked carefully, his eyes moving to Harry for a moment before looking away again as he tried not to swallow.

“Mm,” Harry answered absently, focused on the delicate task of drawing the blade over Malfoy's skin.

“Why are you doing this?”

Harry paused, flicking his eyes up to meet Malfoy's suddenly steady gaze. “Shaving you or,” he gestured vaguely, wincing when Malfoy flinched away from the razor in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Any of it,” Malfoy answered after a tense moment.

Harry swallowed, looking down at Malfoy's hands clenching and twisting in his lap. “I kinda thought we were friends now,” he murmured when he met Malfoy's eyes again.

Malfoy blinked so quickly it was almost a controlled flinch and Harry lowered the razor, intent on apologizing.

“Malfoy, I--”

It didn't matter what he was about to say because suddenly Malfoy's hands were in his hair and Malfoy's mouth was pressing against his almost greedily and the sound of the razor hitting the tile was loud in the small space but neither of them really registered the interruption.

They broke away almost on the same thought, staring at each other from across a completely new divide.

“What was that about then,” Harry asked when the silence had gone on entirely too long.

“I just, I thought maybe it was because you thought this could be something more than friendship,” Malfoy whispered, pink coloring his cheeks.

“I think I might like that,” Harry answered self-consciously, meeting Malfoy's eyes with a blush of his own.


End file.
